


I Felt You Breezing By

by Schwoozie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Budding Sexuality, Dreams, F/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Post-Canon, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her nightmares she can never find him, but her dreams are what frighten her most of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Felt You Breezing By

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5 of 30 Days of Writing challenge
> 
> prompt: haze

In her nightmares she can never find him.

It troubled her, the first few times, that she should dream of him and not the family she lost long ago. They fill her waking hours, after all - she lost count of the fishmongers who bore her father’s face, the deckhands with Robb’s span of back or Jon’s tangle of hair; the merchant wives or dock-side whores who smiled and laughed like Sansa. In the day, she could hardly recall his face - it morphs into the visage of a ghost, the misty memory of a man she once knew, a haziness that once caused her comfort.

In her nightmares she can never find him, but her dreams are what frighten her most of all. He parts the veil of her fragmenting memory as he parts the cloth from her breast, and his fingers inside her are like the stabbing gales of winter. 

She has many chances to give off her maidenhead, and even more nights when she would like to - every morning arising in sweat-soaked sheets, the path of his hands burned like fire into her trembling limbs - but even more than she dreads the betrayals of her body, she fears like a knife in the dark the thought of losing forever his mouth on her skin, the hot way he whispers in her ear of the long years of service he would give, both in the bed and without, a wolf crowned like a stag in the howling North. She dreams, for the first time since her father lost his head, not of the dreadful past or the starving morrow, but a future, full of wonders she can scarce imagine, duties that should be burdens but don’t seem quite so, not with his steady arms to bear the weight.

And so she looks, and so she learns - learns the planes of the body, the hows and the whys of a woman in love - and when his face is no longer a dream, when he pulls her from Nymeria’s blood-soaked back to bear her into the sept, when he sets her on the altar and falls at her feet and kisses the iron of her battle-dress - she parts the haze as she parts his hair and falls face-first into the gale.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the lyrics of Rosi Golan's "Seeing Ghosts."


End file.
